The celtic tiger
by thebewilderedhorse
Summary: 1996... Antwerp, Belgium... Ireland revels a shocking little secret. What is going to happen


_1996  
_Ireland had her hair tied back in an approximate ponytail. Some of the shorter midnight coloured waves decided to run loose and break from the unkempt mess that she had tried to tie back, unsuccessfully. She sighed letting the hair go it's own way. It was getting long, maybe too long. If she cut it, it would be easier to manage... Then again, for the first time since she made the mistake of asking England for any help her hair was below her jaw, it rested on her shoulders. Ignoring her general attitude of function over form with her hair, she took a brush and began with the task of de-tangling the waves.  
As that was finished she decided maybe, since most of her work was based around software and computers now, longer hair was an option, there was a lower chance that it would get caught in the farming machinery now too, they had improved greatly since the days she had spent doing hard labour. She was about to clip her fringe to the side but looking at herself in the mirror put the trademark silver and green clip down and left her hair as it was. It wasn't like her fringe was hanging down in front of her eye. If anything, it seemed to make the bright blue sapphires stand out more, a rather difficult task given that she had thicker eyebrows then England but they had a "different feel" according to France. She laughed to herself, remembering how France had spent a long time staring at her eyebrows when he had first employed her. At least he got so distracted by the monsters on her forehead that he had failed to see that she was in fact a girl. Many countries were, to this day a little confused but her gender. She remembered meeting Poland and buying a drink. He got "ma'am" and she got "Sir". They still addressed each other as such.  
Since she was looking a bit more like a girl today, Ireland got an idea for a bit of a joke, she would wear a skirt and wax her eyebrows. Setting about the plan she laughed at the end result, but somewhere inside was quite happy with this. Her hair resting just on her shoulders in shining black waves, a fitted t-shirt with the image of a tiger printed on it and a dark denim hockey style skirt that stopped three inches above her knee and like usual, her trusted slightly beaten dark green converse. She pulled her regular blazer on top and headed to the meeting.  
"...Irlande?"  
She turned her head to see France staring at her, even more surprised when he saw that she had refined her eyebrows to being normal (well almost normal). France was her oldest friend, they had known each other since they could remember. He had always flirted with her, even when they were children, but when it actually came to having a romantic relationship things always messed up with funny consequences, well they were funny in retrospect, at the time it was inconvenient and ended with her in the U.k. if they didn't laugh, they would cry.  
"Mo chara* if you don't stop staring I will bring up the Republic of Connacht* in the middle of the meeting."  
France had stopped, he had changed from his usual combination of treating Ireland like a "Bro" and flirting to being in full flirt mode. He had pulled out the roses and was doing the usual routine. When the girl decided to interrupt the show.  
"Yaddah yaddah, I've know since forever lad. I know where this leads, you give the flowers, and don't lie I know where they've been. You take them out for a drink, dinner, romance it's back at your place or their place, do the deed and make nice breakfast. Part on fond terms with fonder memories and bite marks on your ass. Not my style, romantic Irelands dead and gone,"  
yeah Ireland might look like a girl now, but she was still the same person. France wasn't crushed by this rejection, he was just chancing his arm. Ireland, unromantic, begrudging, stubborn rude.. the list could go on. She wasn't even pretty as such her eyes and hair were what you noticed about her, when she genuinely smiled it was truly stunning but that was a challenge, maybe Ireland was his ultimate challenge... But before anything else he was going to have to get her to wear the right sort of shoes. She rolled her eyes with the perfect combination of dismissal and apathy and gave him a sacrstic little smirk and continued heading towards the meeting room, passing America and England who were talking (arguing) in the hall.  
The quiet that came over both of the stopped the bickering as neither of them were sure who had just passed.  
"was... that..."  
"Ireland? Oui. Don't get your hopes up, she's just looks different. same girl."


End file.
